


A Fateful First Meeting

by Axce



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dwalin is SHY, Feel-good, M/M, thorin is horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axce/pseuds/Axce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield: impulsive Leicester supporter, and maths professor. On his first day at his new job, he gets completely lost and wanders into the old, empty, out-of-use teacher's lounge. And of course, barely 30 seconds later, his smoking hot new colleague; criminology professor Dwalin Fundinsson, walks in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fateful First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write! You can find me on Tumblr as myforlornplace :)

“What are you doing here?”

Shit. Despite the fact that the smoking hot criminology professor is standing less than three feet away from him, tattooed arms crossed, chest hair just visible enough to be a distraction, Thorin’s mind starts racing in record time.

“I… uhm, got lost. Sorry, first day,” he ends up with, and it’s not really a lie. I mean, he had heard the teacher’s lounge on the 2nd floor was rarely used anymore, since the school’s recent reconstruction. But he happened to pass after taking a wrong turn, and the door was unlocked… Thorin had always had trouble fighting his curiosity, so he had entered the empty old lounge to see what it was all about, only to have by far the cutest of his new colleagues walk in on him.

His lazy excuse seemed to have worked though, because the man actually smirks (and oh lord do his dark eyes turn the most beautiful shade of indigo), entering the lounge and closing the door behind him.

“New, huh? What’s your name?” the man asks, and Thorin has to refrain from rolling his eyes because the deep voice is definitely laced with some kind of way too attractive accent. Marvelous.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Thorin says and extends his hand which he furiously hopes isn’t cold or clammy. “New maths professor, pleasure to meet you.” 

The man shakes his hand firmly but not painfully, and smiles. Thorin tries not too melt. 

“Dwalin Fundinsson, criminology. Pleasure’s all mine,” he says, and Thorin attempts his best to act like he didn’t know all that already. 

Dwalin walks to the small kitchen and fills a water boiler. He turns to Thorin. “Coffee?” 

“Have you got tea?” Thorin asks, and that elicits another smirk from Dwalin.

“We’re in England, aye? Of course there’s tea,” he says, but Thorin only hears the first part. Aye. Thorin wonders why just that word coming from this big, burly man is enough to make his breathing quicken. 

“So, maths?” Dwalin asks incredulously while the boiler bubbles in the background, but the irony is not lost on Thorin. Every study subject has its own professor stereotype, and Thorin knows he certainly doesn’t fit the maths one.

“Maths, believe it or not,” he replies dryly. “I used to be terrible at it. When I told my high school teacher I wanted to teach maths at a university she laughed for five minutes and then had to profusely apologise to my parents for making me cry because she honestly thought I was joking.”

Dwalin chuckles and it’s the loveliest sound Thorin has heard all week. 

“Well you proved her wrong alright,” he says, and for a second Thorin is taken aback because he can’t tell if the undertone he hears is meant to be flirty or if Dwalin simply approves of his perseverance. Either would be very much appreciated (though one maybe a wee bit more than the other).

“Why Leeds?” Dwalin asks before Thorin can say anything. 

“Opportunity, I guess,” Thorin replies. “Also living in the same tiny Cornwall village for the past 27 years had to become boring at some point.”

Another chuckle, and Thorin bites the inside of his cheek.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Similar reasons, actually,” Dwalin says. “Got bored with Scotland — Thorin makes a quick mental note: Scottish accents should be illegal — so I moved out here, and thankfully found a job in no time. Never regreted it.”

At that moment the water boiler makes a loud ding! sound, violently interrupting Thorin’s careful tracing of Dwalin’s bearded jawline with his eyes. 

Thankfully Dwalin turns around to make tea so he can’t see how the other’s face flushes an impressive shade of red, though Thorin is now presented with a different, but equally scrumptious distraction (and honestly was it necessary for Fundinsson to wear such… complementing jeans?).

“So how do the little ones treat you so far?”

Thorin tears his eyes from Dwalin’s meticulously crafted butt and takes a while to link ‘little ones’ to his new students. “Oh you know how the first weeks are,” he says, “most of them are too depressed that summer break is over to give me a hard time.”

Dwalin hums in agreement.

The following silence is comfortable, the two of them taking sips of their tea and coffee while leaning against opposing walls. Thorin feels confident enough to ask the question that has been on his lips for the entire conversation.

“So, if this lounge isn’t supposed to be used, why are you here?” 

Dwalin laughs a bit embarrassedly and actually shuffles with his feet, looking down. The sudden shyness is so unexpected that Thorin has to resist the urge to coo. 

“I, erm… how the fuck do I say this…” Dwalin mutters. “I’m not a big fan of… people. That sounds awful. I just… need some time alone every now and then, and this place is usually empty so…”

He trails off, still looking at his feet and Thorin understands. This whole thing was too perfect to begin with really, so he shouldn’t really be surprised. The disappointment still stings like hell.

“Right yeah, I get it, no problem,” he says, pushing himself away from the wall and forcing a smile. “I’ll go join the others. Thanks for the—” 

“No!” Dwalin says suddenly and Thorin looks up, surprised (and, admittedly, a little hopeful). 

“Stay. You’re good company. I’m just an introverted asshole who sucks with words.”

Thorin giggles internally because of the words asshole and sucks and then scolds himself immediately. He smiles at Dwalin and nods, leaning against the wall once more. He does notice Dwalin still looks a tad nervous, but it’s different now, like there’s a question he really wants to ask, but is afraid too.

Thorin’s curiosity once more gets the best of him. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Dwalin looks up. “Oh, nothing…” he says. Thorin isn’t remotely convinced, but he doesn’t want to force anything either.

“Actually…” Dwalin says then, and Thorin perks up. “Are you into football by any chance?”

It’s not really the question Thorin expected, but he is intrigued nonetheless. In truth, he has missed a couple of rounds in the premier league due to the whole stressful moving process, but he’s fairly sure Leicester are still in the lead, giving Thorin hope that they’ll manage to achieve what everyone still thinks impossible: winning the English cup two years in a row.

“I definitely am, why?”

Dwalin scratches his beard, clears his throat and meets Thorin’s eyes. “Well uhm, my team Leeds United are playing Leicester this saturday. It’s just a practice game, nothing too big, but I thought maybe we could go together, and have a drink afterwards?”

Thorin is pretty sure his mouth is hanging wide open, but he can’t help it. He blinks a couple of times to check if he isn’t dreaming. It’s his first day at his new job in this new city and he has just been asked on a date by his new supercute colleague? This can’t be real, can it?

Thorin must have been quiet for too long, because Dwalin breaks eyecontact and shifts awkwardly.

“Shit, you’re not even into guys are you? You probably have a girlfriend. Of course you do, I’m such a fucking idiot. Why do I say these things? Forget I ever said anything,” he mutters half to himself and half to Thorin, downs his coffee in one go and heads for the door.

Thorin’s vocal chords unfreeze right at that moment, and he pushes himself from the wall again.

“No, wait!”

Dwalin freezes with his hand already on the doorknob.

“I want to go, Dwalin. Yeah, I’d love to.”

A wave of tension seems to roll off Dwalin’s shoulder, and he turns around enough for Thorin to see a relieved smile on his face.

“You want to go. Okay yeah, great, uhm… pick you up at eight?” Dwalin asks.

“Works for me,” Thorin says and he can’t stop grinning. “Durinstreet 47, need me to write it down?”

“Durinstreet 47,” Dwalin repeats thoughtfully. “Nah, I’ll manage.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

And then the bell rings. 

“Ah. It seems we’re late,” Dwalin says dryly, holding the door open for Thorin when the two of them leave the lounge and step into the hallway. “I need to go right here.”

Thorin has honestly no idea where his next lecture is exactly, except that it’s probably somewhere near where he came from. Meaning he has to go left. Crap. 

“Left, sadly,” Thorin says, but his feet don’t want to move yet, so he lingers. “I’m a Leicester supporter, by the way,” he blurts out then and Dwalin laughs heartily. 

“That ought to be fun,” he says with a wink and the shy demeanor from before has vanished almost completely. “I’ll see you around. Saturday, eight pm, Durinstreet 47. I’ll be there.”

“Can’t wait,” Thorin says and he doesn’t remember the last time he smiled at someone so sillily. 

Dwalin gives a last firm nod, turns, and walks away. Thorin waits till he’s disappeared around the corner and then walks in the opposite direction, head in the clouds, and he thanks and praises his impulsive nature more than a hundred times for entering the teacher’s lounge on the second floor on this day that he will quite possibly never forget.


End file.
